


I Won't Be Afraid (of anything ever again)

by Pistol



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Codependency, Gen, Hunters!, Some Deaths Don't, Some Deaths Stick, Spitefics2020, Supernatural Crossover, Torture, Trauma, no romance yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: Stiles remembers the exact moment Scott stopped breathing.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles remembers the exact moment Scott stopped breathing. He remembers having to pry the knife out of Scott's back just so he could lay him down on a musty old mattress while Deaton watched his every movement with a laser-like focus. He remembers the way Scott stayed still, quiet no matter what Stiles threatened or begged of him.

He remembers the way Deaton tilted his head, the weary sag in his shoulders.

"I'm not going to pretend that you don't know that you have options," Deaton rubs at his eyes, bloodshot and wet, "but those options aren't options you should explore."

Stiles nods along like he's listening, but he heads for his Jeep the moment Deaton's back is turned. 

The demon who meets him at the crossroads is old enough to be his mother and her hair is as red as her eyes. Victoria drives a hard bargain, but Stiles walks away feeling like he's won. After all, if she had asked him Stiles would have surrendered his soul on the spot, a year more of life is just a bonus if Scott is alive.

\---

The first thing Scott does is call Stiles' dad and tell on him.

Stiles knows he should be upset, but he can’t feel anything but relief. An angry Scott is better than a dead one.

\---

Scott finds Alison in a dark alley in the middle of a hunt in Maine. She greets Scott with a wicked little smile and the temptation of information gained through dubious means and still, Stiles doesn’t need a deck of cards or a magical bloodline to tell how it will end.

Stiles rides in the back of the Jeep now and they rent two rooms when they stop at motels and Stiles finds himself alone more often than not on hunts. 

He tries to be mature about it. He does his best to make sure that there are no hard feelings and he reminds himself that he did what he did so that Scott would have a chance to be stupidly in love with a person he just barely met. 

Even _if_ that person is a demon.

At the end of the day though Scott is happy and alive, so Stiles smiles and doesn't talk about how his life has an expiration date or how he still sees a monster first and Scott's significant other second whenever he looks at Allison.

Stiles knew there would be pain, he just thought it would be a year away.

\---

Stiles' dad is there when the day comes. Scott isn't because Allison is having some kind of issue with other demons over her and Scott's epic star-crossed love. His dad doesn't say anything about Scott's absence or about the deadline approaching, he just sits in silence with Stiles clenching and unclenching his jaw while the clock keeps ticking away Stiles' life.

"Stiles-"

"Dad, it's okay," Stiles lies.

They hear the hellhounds long before Stiles sees them. Hid dad can't see them but he still kills four of them with cold eyes and a seasoned hunters instinct before Stiles grabs his arm.

"It's _time_," Stiles begs him, "you have to let me go now."

His dad's swears that it's not over, that he sure as hell won't _let_ it be over as he kills two more before one gets past him and sinks it's claws into Stiles. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles tries to tell his dad through the blood that's choking him.

"No, no, _no_," John howls, "you can't have him, you can't take my boy too!"

They take him despite his dad's objections. Stiles had always taken after his mother in more ways than his Dad had liked.

\---

The first ten years are the hardest. Stiles comes to this conclusion on his twenty-first year on the rack. When his tongue grows back he tells Gerard, who laughs and laughs before repeating his offer.

"It doesn't have to be like this, boy."

Stiles laughs, because yes, yes it _does_ have to be this way. He might not be a good person but he knows he isn't a monster like the man before him. 

"You know, I've had my share self-esteem issues but you make me feel pretty fuckin' good about myself, grandpa," Stiles smiles, flashing blood stained teeth. "So, thanks for that."

Gerard gives him a mocking smirk, "You feel good, huh?" He turns away, moving to his work bench, hands flittering over an endless row of knives, each sharper than the last, "I must be doing something wrong, then. Guess I'll have to try harder."

In the background, a record plays on repeat. The words so familiar and constant that they have managed to lose all meaning somewhere in between a time when Stiles was screaming and when he didn't have a throat to scream with.

\---

Stiles is at his thirty-eighth year on the rack when Gerard's offer of no pain at the low, low price of other people's suffering starts to look better and better. Stiles doesn't know the people he'd be hurting and he sure as shit doesn't owe them anything. Years of suffering at a level he wasn't aware even _existed_, all without any glimpse of relief, has apparently taken its toll.

With every week that passes Stiles finds himself less and less willing to deny that maybe, just _maybe_, there isn't a monster like Gerard lurking under his skin. The monster has been getting closer to the surface every time Gerard peels another layer skin from him. 

Stiles knows how to kill every monster in his father's bestiary, but he isn't sure how to kill one like this. This monster hasn't come to the surface yet but Stiles knows that it's just a matter of time – time, which means next to nothing in Hell where all he has is pain and time.

\---

There's a new woman on the rack next to his. _Erica_, Gerard likes to croon to her as he pushes a blade in, _Oh, poor, poor little Erica_.

She's new enough that she still flinches when Gerard works on her. 

Stiles knows that eventually that'll stop. Eventually, her body will learn that there's no point in flinching away, and like the others who've been in her spot she'll stop fighting her place on the rack. It'll take longer for her to learn there is no point in screaming. When the screaming stops Stiles knows it's only a matter of days before she'll accept Gerard's offer. Then she'll climb of the rack and her blue-grey eyes will bleed into black when she picks up her own knife and learns how to use it. 

Probably on him.

Stiles still screams, not as loud, not as mad as he used too- and sometimes he only screams for the sake of making noise. But still he screams and he screams because it's the _only_ fight he has left in him and he can feel it draining out of him more and more with every day.

He's not ready for what happens when he stops screaming.

Next to him Erica looks over and smiles, lips ashen from the chronic bloodloss that hurts but never kills them. She's a skittish thing, but she's got an iron strength that Gerard has yet to rip out of her. She's yet to be scared out of giving Stiles one of her smiles. She always offers one, even when Gerard had threatened to burn off her lips. She'd smiled after that, too.

It's not all smiles though. Erica cries sometimes and on the right day that hurts more than anything Gerard can do to him.

"All this could stop," Gerard promises, the skin around his black eyes crinkling up at the edges, "you could rest. Heal. You wouldn't have to bleed. I might even be convinced to let you keep her as a pet."

Stiles hasn't had teeth or a tongue for a little over a week but he still manages to spit on Gerard's face. It's more blood than spit, but Stiles isn't picky.

Gerard scowls, wiping at his face. When he hacks away most of Stiles' face Stiles doesn't flinch but next to him Erica does. Gerard grabs him by the chin, turning the remains of Stiles' face to show Erica who manages to give him another one of her teary-eyed smiles.

"She sold her soul to be noticed, you know. She was a mousy little thing, too sick and too dull to get anyone to notice her," Gerard mocks her in sing-song voice, "well, you've got my attention now, don't you my dear?"

"It was worth it," Erica whispers, she's looking at Stiles as she says it and he isn't sure why, but he believes her. His deal had been worth it too. 

There are no more words. Only a meaty wet sound and a muffled cry as Gerard goes to work on her. The path of Gerard's knives always burns even though they're not on Stiles' skin. Stiles thinks sometimes that it's because everything hurts in Hell and nothing ever dulls except for hope.

\---

It’s well into his thirty-ninth year when Stiles sees Scott out of the corner of his eye.

It's not the first time Stiles’ seen him, but it's the first time he's hallucinated Scott with a strange man at his side. Stiles refocuses his attention on Gerard. New things are rarely _good_ things when you're in Hell.

Scott, who Stiles is trying not to watch, is moving forward slowly. His glowing amber eyes are watching Stiles when he slides in behind Gerard who's mindlessly rambling through his insane speech and Shakespeare quotes of the day. The speech is cut short when Scott closes his eyes and Gerard's head snaps back in surprise. Red light flashes through Gerard's veins briefly before he's dropping lifelessly to the floor. 

In Scott's hand Allison's knife is wet and red, and his eyes are still the wrong color. The warm color Stiles remembers is replaces with bright gold that Stiles thinks they might burn him if he could hold the color in his hands.

"Hey," Scott blinks and his eyes change back to the familiar brown Stiles remembers.

Stiles blinks back, unsure of how this game will play out. Maybe Scott's eyes really will burn him. 

"Sorry it took so long, I got a little lost," Scott bites his lip nervously, his eyes growing harder as he looks over Stiles' body. 

"Lost is an understatement," the other man mutters as he moves to pull Erica, still unconscious, down from her spot on the rack.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my GPS must have gotten turned around what with this being _Hell_," Scott snaps over his shoulder. He sheaths Allison's knife before gingerly pulling one of the hooks out of Stiles' arm. The extra care doesn't do anything to dull the pain of metal barbs catching on long abused muscle.

Somewhere between the first hook and the third Stiles is crying, because Scott is _here_, maybe, and Stiles doesn't think he'll survive it if Scott isn't _his_ Scott. 

"Scott?" He wants to believe it, he really does.

Scott swallows, nodding frantically as he offers Stiles a thin smile before pulling another hook out of his flesh. 

"Yeah, buddy. It's me," the smile falters as he examines the hook in Stiles' chest. "I need you to take a deep breath, 'cause I think this is gonna suck."

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Scott isn't wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

When Stiles wakes up he's in the spare room at Scott's house. Scott is there, laying next him and watching him with worried eyes. The whole moment is remnant of their first hunt, of Stiles' getting his first concussion and Scott breaking his leg and spending a week holed up in bed with Scott as they licked their wounds and pride while their parents fussed over them.

Stiles feels like he's home, he feels like he's drowning.

"You need to breathe, Stiles," Scott urges him, one hand reaching out to touch to his face hesitantly, "_breathe,_ dude."

Stiles takes a gasping breath and the burning in his lungs dulls just before the rest of the pain hits him. The world swims, but Scott's eyes stay where they are, becoming Stiles' focus in the madness of his panic attack.

"Shhhh," Scott reminds him quietly, "just breathe."

Stiles wants to tell Scott that telling someone to breathe isn't helpful during a panic attack, that he's scared he's still in Hell, that he misses Scott so _so_ much, but Stiles' train of thought derails as the warm brown of Scott's eyes bleeds into the burning gold. 

Stiles' heart feels like it's about to pound out of his chest and there's a terrible noise ringing in his ears and-

\---

The second time Stiles wakes Scott is sitting on the edge of his bed, anxiously bouncing his foot and speaking in hushed voices with the man from Stiles' maybe-not-a-hallucination. Scott's eyes are brown once more. Stiles wonders how long they'll stay like that.

"Hey," whispers a familiar voice, and suddenly Erica is leaning over him with a smile. It's a new smile, one Stiles hasn't seen before.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she ducks her head down, pressing her forehead into his chest like she's trying to crawl inside him. It makes Stiles want to flinch, but he manages to stay still. 

It’s odd. The weight of her there. The feeling of her breathing, of her hair where it’s spilled onto the skin his shirt doesn’t touch. 

There’s no pain that wasn’t already screaming away inside him. There’s only… her.

Unsure of what to say or do, Stiles passes out.

\---

The third time Stiles wakes up Scott and Erica are gone. Boyd is there, sprawled in a chair casually with a new look and a new scar adorning his neck.

"Scott said he had some things he needed to do," Boyd tells him as he helps Stiles make his way to the bathroom. "He'll be back."

Stiles remembers glowing eyes and isn't sure if that's a promise or a threat. When Stiles finally makes his way back to the bed - soft, so soft it _hurts_ \- Boyd returns to his seat in the corner of the room and picks up a book to read.

"Are you real?" Stiles manages to whisper.

Boyd just shrugs, "I think, therefore I just might be. Who really knows though?"

Stiles rolls that around in his head, and yeah, if it looks like a Boyd and quacks like a Boyd, he still might be hallucinating in Hell.

\---

Scott is still gone, and the windows are locked the next time Stiles wakes up.

Erica pretends to be asleep and Stiles pretends that neither of these things bother him as Boyd feeds him spoon after spoon of broth.

\---

"The windows-"

"I know," he whispers into Erica’s hair. She clings closer to him, both hyper aware of Boyd's footstep in the hallway. He hasn’t hurt them. Has taken pains to give them time and space… 

Hell is full of games, though, and just because it doesn’t hurt now doesn’t mean it won’t – it just means that when the hurt finally comes it’s going to twice as cruel.

\---

Erica ends up staying in Stiles' room more than hers. They've spent months being torn apart next to each other and while the pain has stopped the need for a sense of safety, even if false, hasn't. Together they eat, work their abused muscles, and try not to reveal too much when Boyd is near them. It’s getting harder and harder to keep their defenses up.

"There's something wrong with him," she whispers when Boyd is out of sight. "But they're your friends, right? They said they were… can we trust them?"

Stiles tries to remember what trust feels like but can't pinpoint the feeling anymore. "We can trust them more than Gerard," he settles on.

"Is Gerard dead?"

"I hope he is," Stiles winces as Erica's arms tighten around him but doesn't object. He's had worse. 

"What about us? I mean… we're _dead,_ right? Someone somewhere probably buried us. How do we explain that?"

Stiles shrugs, "I don't think we can."

Erica props her chin up on his chest and watches him. "Okay," she says finally, "I trust you."

"You shouldn't," he snaps without meaning too. He would apologize, but Erica has never responded well to that. Instead, his hand finds hers in the dark and he waits for her to twine their fingers together before he lets himself exhale.

"We've been through Hell together. There's no one I trust more." Erica tries to smile at her joke and Stiles tries to smile back as they continue to lay in the room they can't escape from.

\---

"_Months?_"

Boyd nods, refilling Stiles' glass, "You were gone about four months."

Stiles drains it in one gulp before stealing the rest of Erica's. Erica doesn't notice, still too busy staring at the calendar hanging in the McCall's kitchen. It's their first time in the kitchen, their first time being anywhere that wasn't on the second story. 

"But…" Erica reaches out, fingers hesitantly skimming over the paper, "I died less than a week ago, but I was down there for almost a year…"

Boyd shrugs, looking unsure of what to say as Erica curls her arms around herself.

She turns to Stiles, "This doesn't make sense." 

He knows she won't ask outright but Stiles has no problem telling her the answer, "I was there almost 40 years by my count."

Erica makes a tiny sound as her arms tighten around herself, "Oh."

Boyd looks uncomfortable with his helplessness, shifting his feet an unable to look at either of them. "Scott said he's be back soon. I'm sure he can explain all this."

Stiles nods, still pretending not to notice how Boyd has been standing between them and the door.

\---

The house is nearly silent with only them and Boyd in it. At night, Stiles finds himself tossing and turning in the deafening silence of their room.

"You too?" Erica queries.

"Yeah, I've been thinking of investing in some death metal so I can play it at night but Boyd won't let me near his wallet, much less drive me to the store to steal a CD." 

Erica chuckles and they both avoid talking about how Boyd won't let them near the computer, the TV, the phones, or even out of the house. 

Later, Stiles pretends to be asleep when Erica starts to cry. He can’t offer her much, but this, this he can give her.


	3. Chapter 3

The house is nearly silent with only them and Boyd in it. At night, Stiles finds himself tossing and turning in the deafening silence of their room.

"You too?" Erica queries.

"Yeah, I've been thinking of investing in some death metal so I can play it at night but Boyd won't let me near his wallet, much less drive me to the store to steal a CD." 

Erica chuckles and they both avoid talking about how Boyd won't let them near the computer, the TV, the phones, or even out of the house. 

Later, Stiles pretends to be asleep when Erica starts to cry. He can’t offer her much, but this, this he can give her.

\---

Scott shows up, beaten and bruised with four other men and a woman who look just as fucked up as Scott is. It takes all of Stiles' willpower to not fuss over Scott's wounds. Any kind of pain is still hard to see on him, hard not to try to fix, a compulsion Erica and he share but don't like to think about.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Stiles snaps. There are other things he wants to say, to ask, to _yell_, but this is the easiest.

Scott glares through his one open eye, "Dude, do you have any idea how many demons I pissed off by killing Gerard and dragging you two out of the pit?"

"Stiles, not now, he's hurt!" Erica chastises, moving to gingerly tilt Scott's head back to access his wounds. She freezes and Stiles feels his blood run cold when she hastily drops her hands and backing away from Scott. 

"He's already healing," she reports in a hollow voice.

"Oh. Fancy trick," Stiles grabs Erica's wrist, dragging her behind him as his mind pulls up the nearest exist while a chorus of '_are you really surprised?_' plays at deafening level on repeat in his head. It reminds Stiles of Gerard's record and it takes all his will power not to break down right there at the thought.

Stiles clears his throat, avoiding looking at Scott who looks like a kicked puppy. "Right, so we're just going to be going now. And just so you know, I remember my Latin so you don't want to follow us."

"Stiles, _wait_," Scott begs, "it's not what you think-"

Stiles laughs, high and manic while Erica whimpers. He might be squeezing her wrist too tightly, but Stiles can't loosen his fingers. The other people Scott dragged home with him are watching them both like they're concerned with what they’ll do. 

_Good,_ Stiles thinks viciously. 

"Hey, hey, relax-" the lone woman urges the crowd, her eyes are kind but Stiles has been hunting long enough to know kindness is often the easiest way to hide cruelty.

"Living room window," Stiles whisper to Erica. He moves his thumb over her wrist and then they're both turning and running - right into Boyd's chest. It’s a bit like hitting a solid wall, and Boyd is unfazed from the impact. He almost looks guilty when Erica scrambles away from him, but Stiles is comfortable enough writing that off as a trick of the light.

Stiles lets the familiar cadence of Latin spill from his lips as he reels back a hand to strike Boyd. There's a bright pain in his knuckles on impact, and again there's little to no reaction from Boyd. 

"Shit," Stiles chants, "shit, _shit_, shit." When he turns back around Scott and the others are there in a half circle that's surrounding them. Scott has his hands up in front of him in a way Stiles knows that Scott hopes looks placating.

"Stiles, listen, I-"

"Fuck you," Stiles hisses, throwing a punch at the oldest member of Scott's group who just rolls his eyes and hits Stiles back. Stiles is unconscious before he hits the floor.

\---

"I was in New York with Boyd," Scott says looking uncomfortable, "and the hunt went bad."

Stiles ignores Scott, still testing the restraints on his arms and legs despite the pointlessness of it. He recognizes the technique used; he remembers learning it with Scott while sitting at Ms. McCall's kitchen table.

"Derek was there, he and his family were on the same hunt as-"

"You know I'm gonna kill you right?" Stiles informs him, "If you don't kill me first I'll get out and I'll _kill you_."

"I'll help," Erica snarls from her place next to him.

Scott makes a complicated facial expression before hanging his head. "Stiles, I'm still _me_-"

"Maybe you haven't bothered to do your homework, but this isn't my first rodeo, asshole. I've heard plenty of demons and creepy crawlies try that bit."

"I'm not a demon, dude! I'm a-" Scott winces like it's hard for him to say the word, "_werewolf_."

"Werewolves are _real_?" Erica asks disbelievingly. 

Stills rolls his eyes, "You really shouldn't be so surprised Miss I-sold-my-soul-to-a-_demon_."

She scoffs, "Whatever. You totally didn't know what they were either Mr. I'm-a-big-bad-hun-"

"Hey! Are you guys even paying attention to me?" 

"_No,_" Stiles and Erica chorus.

Erica turns back to Stiles starts talking about the weather, and Stiles gives his full focus to the most boring conversation he's ever been a part of. They discuss their favorite temperatures - Erica prefers the mid-seventies and Stiles disagrees because the low-sixties are clearly superior - and they both agree that rainbows are better than tornadoes. Eventually the creature formally known as Scott gives up talking over them and doesn't make good on his threats to gag them.

"We're going to have to talk about this at some point, Stiles," Scott says wearily from the doorway.

"You know," Stiles tells Erica, "I think you're right. It really _does_ feel more like a balmy seventy-five degrees, my earlier guess of seventy-two was obviously the result of years of hell trauma."

"I suspected as much," Erica says, nodding.

\---

"I hear you're being difficult," Stiles' attacker muses from the doorway. His hair is slicked back and he's giving off more _bad-touch_ vibes than Stiles is willing to deal with while tied to a bed.

"Hey Erica, did you know that there are over two hundred and fifty strains of aconite?"

"Oh my god, that is _thrilling_ information. Tell me more," she intones dryly.

"Well, aren't you two just a _riot_."

Stiles ignores Bad Touch, "Well, aconite is more commonly known as wolf's bane."

Erica perks up a little at this, "I'm liking the sound of that."

"One strain is even rumored to cause irreversible impotence in male werewolves."

"_The more you know_," Erica sings cheerfully.

Bad Touch rolls his eyes, before yelling down the hallway, "I vote we send them both back to Hell."

"Shut _up_ Peter," Scott yells from somewhere in the house, "you don't get a vote."

"I'm not sure if I want to make a Peter and the Wolf joke or if I should just stick with Peter Pan," Erica muses.

Stiles pretends to think on this, "Well, on one hand you have oboes and on the other hand, _tights_."


	4. Chapter 4

Erica ends up biting Laura when she ‘helps’ Erica to the bathroom. This mildly irritates Laura and gives Erica a sore jaw. Stiles' attempts to kick Scott in the balls is equally as futile but satisfying. The lamp to Peter's head is their most effective method to date, but only because Peter stopped to fix his hair in the mirror before catching them in the hallway.

"You really gotta stop this, dude," Scott whines for the nth time.

"Sure, just as soon as you stop holding us hostage," Erica offers with her fakest sugary-sweet smile.

Scott tugs at his hair in irritation, "You're not hostages!"

Erica exchanges a bored look with Stiles. "Since we're not hostages how about we blow this joint?"

Stiles feigns shock, "Oh my god, why didn't _I_ think of that during our many, _many_ escape attempts?"

"You're not hostages but you can't leave," Scott whines, "not until you understand what's going on and understand what’s happening out there. Not until you _listen_ to me."

"Oh, I understand, I understand that my best friend is now a _werewolf_ who's keeping me tied up in his Mom's guest room."

"If I let you go, what would you do?" Scott's voice is suddenly hollow, tired. 

Stiles doesn't even have to think about it. "I'd get us somewhere _safe_."

Scott nods, "And then you'd come back and kill me - _us_ right?"

"Well, it's not the first thing on my list, but yeah. Killing monsters is up there."

"After we get a burger," Erica agrees. "I miss burgers."

"Oh, yeah, call my dad, get some burgers, and then hunting 101 for Erica who is my _new_ best friend."

Scott watches Stiles for a long moment, then stands and leaves without saying anything. Within a minute he's returned with a cellphone in his hand that he gives to Stiles.

"I think you need to call Deaton," he says without meeting Stiles' eyes. "I don't think this is news you want to hear from me."

\---

Erica ends up taking the phone from Stiles halfway through Deaton's platitudes, talking in a hushed voice to Deaton before hanging up. Scott takes the phone from her with an apologetic smile.

"Go away," she seethes at Scott while she pushes Stiles back on the bed. She curls up next to him, pulling herself as close as she can to him and making soothing noises as tears slip silently down Stiles' face.

\---

Deaton shows up the next day, his posture more tense and angry than Stiles has ever seen while he exchanges hushed words with Scott and Laura. The first thing he does when he's done with Scott is to herd Erica and Stiles past the wolves and into his van. Erica and Stiles don't protest but they remain on edge, hands clasped tightly together.

Like hunters who’ve survived too many hunts that have gone wrong, they’ll have to talk about this codependency at some point or it will likely kill them. But for now, Stiles can’t fathom not touching her.

"You must be hungry," Deaton says pulling out of the driveway where three werewolves are watching but making no move to stop them from leaving. 

"We could eat," Erica lies for both of them, her hand gripping Stiles' hard enough her nails are breaking his skin.

\---

Deaton stops at a small café Stiles remembers eating at with Ms. McCall. He doesn't rush them as they exit the van, Deaton just stands silently next to them as Stiles and Erica try not to hyperventilate from the sheer amount of people moving around them. It's bright and loud, and Stiles wonders when under a dozen people in a plaza parking lot was enough to make him feel terrified and out of his depth.

Deaton quietly requests a booth in the back when they enter the restaurant and puts his own back to the door, allowing Erica and Stiles the ideal position to keep an eye on the room.

"I was going to try to gradually re-introduce you to the world," Deaton says as he scans the menu, "but I had a feeling after enduring Mr. McCalls attempts at that you were both unlikely to be amiable to that." He pauses looking up and over at them with a frown.

There's a popping sound from somewhere near them, maybe the kitchen, and it makes both Stiles and Erica jump.

"Erica," Deaton says calmly, "you're hurting Stiles. Try to relax your hand."

They both look down, both surprised to find one of Stiles' fingers bent in the wrong direction when Erica removes her hand from his. Deaton reaches over, covering Stiles' hand with his own before Stiles can react and there's a cool breeze that comes out of nowhere. It wraps around Stiles' finger before disappearing. When Deaton pulls his hand back the finger is back to normal. Stiles bends it experimentally before threading his hand back with Erica's.

"What a neat fucking trick," Erica says with wet eyes that keep darting around the room. The knife that used to be sitting next to her spoon is missing, just like Stiles'.

\---

Deaton tries to fill them in as much as he can but a busboy startles Erica and Stiles ends up out of his seat with his hands wrapped around the busboys neck. Erica is the one who pulls Stiles off while Deaton talks to the manager in soothing tones that make a nonexistent wind pick up and rustle through the café leaving the manager and other patrons looking glazed and compliant.

Deaton drives them back to Ms. McCall's in silence.

\---

"What did you expect?" Deaton isn't yelling, but his voice carries up through the vent and into their room easily enough. "You've taken two deeply traumatized individuals and treated them like prisoners. You've denied them any answers, autonomy, and neglected to tell Stiles that some people he once knew have been fundamentally changed. He's his father’s son, Scott, did you really expect him to just _trust_ you after all that?"

"Deaton's not so bad," Erica murmurs. 

Stiles nods absently, eyes fixed on the flashes of silver as she twirls one of their stolen knives between her fingers.

\---

Stiles doesn't take any pleasure in stabbing his knife into Scott's side but he knows Erica enjoys putting her knife into Peter's eye. In the chaos that ensues they manage to get to the kitchen before Derek and Laura stop them.

"No," Scott says in a voice that's half a growl and half a whine, "just let them go."

"You heard the man," Erica chirps, baring her teeth at Laura.

Derek narrows his eyes, "Scott-"

"No, just," Scott's still cradling his bloody side, wincing as he tugs out the dull butter knife, "give them some cash and keys and _let them go_." He turns, looking at Stiles with a hurt expression that somehow still manages to tug at Stiles' heart. "We'll be here, okay? _I'll_ be here. I'm not going to abandon you again, Stiles. I'm gonna stay right here in this fucking house and wait for you to realize I'm _Scott_. _Your_ Scott. And when you're ready to hug me or kill me or whatever you decide, I'll be here." Scott sends a pointed look at the others and Boyd is the one who ends up pulling out his wallet and handing it to Stiles while Laura tosses a set of car keys at Erica. 

"It's the Camero," Laura says baring her teeth right back at Erica. "I expect it returned in the same condition I'm lending it to you."

Stiles doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth and lets Erica grab his hand and tug him towards the door, then out towards freedom.

\---

They drive through four states, stopping only for gas and quick bathroom breaks. Erica drives like hellhounds are chasing her and Stiles drives the way his father taught him, back when he was the son of a Sheriff and not a fifteen-year-old learning to kill the things that killed his mother.

In the fifth state they stop long enough to steal a new car before selling the Camero for next to nothing. They take the cash, gas up their new car, and drive until they find a motel that looks like it won't require any ID. 

In a musty room that smells like smoke they sleep like the dead, which both of them find fitting.


	5. Chapter 5

They stop running after five months of no sign of anyone chasing them. Stiles reaches out to various contacts and gets them IDs. They become Stiles Wayne and Erica Kyle along with a thousand other throwaway names they adopt only whenever they move to their new city of the month. They're siblings, husband and wife, and sometimes they're partners in various law enforcement agencies. They're always sure to leave before really making an impression on the locals.

"So this is it?" Erica asks him after another successful salt and burn. She's limping a bit from when the spirit had thrown her across the room but grinning victoriously. "This is what hunters do? Because I gotta say, I don't hate it. Wish my guidance counselor had suggested this instead of retail work."

"Have I mentioned there's no dental?" Stiles asks, still watching the flames.

\---

"I hav- _had_ to two sisters," Erica says. She's looking down at her hands like they hold a secret. "They were beautiful and smart and all I had was a shitty job and no one ever _saw_ me. Everyone saw them. They got invited into clubs I had to wait in line and pay to get in, they got top shelf drinks for free that I couldn't drink even if I bought one for myself because of all the medication I was on." She sighs, shoving her hands in her pockets in a gesture Stiles recognizes as a nervous tick.

"And?" Stiles already has an idea, but he asks anyways in case it takes away some of Erica's pain. Stiles knows pain, carrying a little more can't hurt.

Erica shrugs. "Some lifers at the hospital got better when they weren't supposed too. They were _healthy_. I asked and eventually one told me about the crossroads." She bites her lip, "I wanted to what my sisters had - to be what they were. Healthy. Pretty. _Wanted_."

The silence that falls is comfortable enough that Stiles doesn't break it.

"Why'd you do it?" Erica eventually asks.

"Scott," Stiles admits. "When my mom died… well, Ms. McCall was a hunter. She took my dad under her wing, taught him the ropes. I spent a lot of time with Scott. We were like," he swallows thickly, "brothers. When we took up the family business, I looked out for him and he looked out for me."

Erica rests her head on Stiles' shoulder. 

"I didn't look out for him well enough. He…" Stiles still can't say it. 

It’s quiet, and in the dark it's easier to reach out to the other side of the bed and drag Erica down next to him. Stiles holds her there and Erica holds him back just as tight.

"Way to one up my 'poor little white girl' sob story," Erica says with a tiny smirk. "God, why do you have to make everything a dick measuring contest?"

Stiles chuckles, pulling her closer and trying not to think about the person he once sold his soul for.

\---

Lydia runs into them in Oregon. She's dressed up in her Madam Di Cicco outfit and multitasking a con on the clueless couple whose house she's also preforming a banishment ritual on. By the time Stiles and Erica are on the scene the poltergeist is long gone along with the young couple’s trust fund.

"You should call him," Lydia advises him over tea. 

Stiles doesn’t flinch anymore, so instead he smiles at her, "Who?"

Lydia scoffs, "Don't play dumb, Stiles. I'm _so_ much better at it than you."

Lydia leaves them with the bill and a headache. 

"It was like she was looking into my _soul_," Erica says with a shudder.

"Fucking psychics," Stiles agrees.

Erica snorts, "Oh please, I saw the way you looked at her. You wanted to be _fucking_ the psychic."

He doesn't bother to deny it which only makes Erica laugh. She stops after a moment and stares in the direction Lydia left in.

"I wonder what its like to be with someone who can read you mind?" She muses. There's a scared edge to her tone that Stiles is kind enough not to comment on. He's woken up in enough beds because of the panicked breathing coming from either him or Erica to know that neither of their minds are anything a person should ever be subjected too.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd because you only live once. Unless you go to the crossroads, which I don't recommend.


End file.
